


The Wintergreen Process

by ghosttmachine



Category: Hunter: The Vigil, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Abstract Horror, Blood, Child Murder, Claustrophobia, Hallucinations, Needles, Panic, Psychic Abilities, The Wintergreen Process, VASCU, drug use of dubious consent, government encouraged drug use, reliving trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22078966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosttmachine/pseuds/ghosttmachine
Summary: Some backstory stuff I'm writing for my character Milo Delacruz! I made him for a Hunter: The Vigil game I'm in, and wanted to write a bit about him going through the Wintergreen Process and learning how to use his psychic abilities, particularly since the books I could find keep some of the finer details of this vague.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

"Good morning! You must be Milo Delacruz," A woman asks, smiling chipperly at him as she opens the door. 

"That's me," Milo says, with a somewhat weak smile. The woman gestures for him to come into the exam room, and he follows, setting a bag down by the door. He looks around, brow furrowed slightly with confusion. 

"I'm Dr. Cohen," she says, turning to face him again. Dr. Cohen is a tall and skinny woman, with thick-rimmed glasses and long blond hair neatly tied back. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she says, offering him a hand. Her hands are cold and bony, but she has a warm friendly smile. 

"And you as well," he says, returning the handshake with a friendly smile. The unease he had on his face when he walked in seems to have faded- or was at the very least less apparent now. 

"I was just going through your paperwork, actually," she says, turning away from him to grab a neat stack of papers, and begins flipping through it as she talks. "It looks like everything's in order for you to start your transfer. Uh, here- take a seat," she says, gesturing to the upright hospital bed with a free hand. Milo hesitates a brief moment before doing as told. 

"I was told that I had to do a physical and get bloodwork done before I started the training- and I did," Milo says, cautious in his explanation. "Did you not get the results from that?" 

"Oh! I did, don't worry. It all looks good," Dr. Cohen says with a dismissive wave of the hand. "We won't be doing any tests today." 

"Oh," Milo says, clearly confused by this. 

Dr. Cohen sets the small stack of papers back down to the counter and pulls up a stool to sit across from Milo. "As you know, 

VASCU is...a very unique branch. Our agents push the boundaries of what the human mind can do with special training in teleinformatic investigation techniques," she says, hunching over the stack of papers slightly as she talks. Milo listens intently. "And, of course, you were transferred here to the Vanguard because of your psychic potential. All of the FBI's agents are screened for psychic ability, and you did exceptionally well in this. But of course, potential means nothing if it's not acted upon. We're going to unlock that potential, in a special training program called the Wintergreen Process. And if you're ready, we can do the first part of that now." 

"Oh, right- of course," Milo says, sitting up a bit straighter now. "What do you need me to do?" 

"Just sit tight for a moment," Dr. Cohen says, and hops up, sending the stool wheeling away behind her. Milo keeps a close eye on her as she goes about the room. She checks her watch, washes her hands, checks her watch  _ again _ \- perhaps she forgot the time? Then she starts gathering some supplies; gloves, a few alcohol wipes, a vial, and...a syringe?

"I'm just going to give you a little bit of medication," Dr. Cohen explains, pulling the gloves on. "You see, while you fit all of the qualifications for psychic abilities, your brain is going to need a bit of a push in the right direction for you to be able to do anything with them," she sets the tray of supplies next to Milo. He offers her his arm and takes one of the alcohol swabs to his arm. All the while she continues explaining chipperly. "After all, you'll be doing things the human mind was never meant to do when you're done here," she says, taking the syringe, carefully jabbing the needle into the vial, and drawing out the medication inside. "Neat, right?" 

"Right," Milo says, a healthy dose of caution in his voice. It sounded more like she was trying to pitch science facts to a disinterested child than explaining to someone that she was going to change the way their brain works. None of this made sense, and if it weren't for the several briefings and the stack of confidentiality papers he had to go through to even get to this point, he certainly wouldn't be humoring her. 

"Alright…" She says and sticks the needle in his arm. "There we go. You should be feeling the effects of this in, oh...about twenty, thirty minutes?" she says, and turns away to discard the syringe. 

"The effects?" Milo asks, relaxing his shoulders slightly and putting his hand back in his lap now that the injection was done. 

"Oh, you know," Dr. Cohen says, making an absentminded sort pointing spinning hand motion followed by a  _ poof.  _ "Psychic brain stuff." 

Milo narrows his eyes at her. "It's that easy then? One injection, and then twenty to thirty minutes later you've got psychic powers?" he says, making an effort not to betray all of his skepticism in his voice. 

"Well...not quite," Dr. Cohen says hesitantly, her bright smile wavering for the briefest of moments. "We're going to take you to a special sensory deprivation tank. It will help when that medication takes effect- best to not have any distractions, yeah?" 

"Distractions from  _ what  _ exactly?" Milo says, his skepticism growing to concern. 

"Ah- here, let me rephrase," Dr. Cohen says, checking her watch and frowning slightly before looking back up at Milo. "The sensory deprivation tank will help you relax, to a near-sleep state. That, combined with the lack of sensory input, will help your brain process the changes to its cognitive functions more easily. It's possible that the medication will put a lot of strain on your mind, so it's best to remove as many complicating factors as we can." 

Milo nods and gets up. He had a bad feeling about this he couldn't shake. Perhaps it was just nerves? Regardless, he'd probably feel much better when this was all over and done with. 


	2. Chapter 2

Milo wasn't sure how anyone managed to relax in one of these. The space itself was completely enclosed, and just barely big enough for him to lay on his back and stretch out a bit. He wasn't sure how deep the water was, but he couldn't imagine he'd be able to stand properly when the tank was closed. It was pitch black, and he couldn't hear anything other than his own breathing and the noise of the water if he moved.

Every now and then his fingers would brush up against the walls, and he'd be reminded of how small the space was. If he let his mind wander too far, he couldn't help but start to imagine the invisible walls closing in on him. Then he could hear his heartbeat in addition to his breathing, and he would have to scramble to think of anything else. Something that was easier said than done when he had no distractions and no option but to lay and the dark and wait. As time went on, it became harder to tell where the water started and ended, and it felt like he was floating in a box just big enough for him. 

After what felt like hours of waiting in the dark, a sort of fuzzy, drowsy feeling began to set in. Is this what Dr. Cohen had mentioned? The near-sleep state? He certainly wasn't relaxed. Perhaps it was the medication setting in? Milo had no idea how much time had passed since he first came in here, but it felt like  _ ages.  _ Had it really only been twenty minutes? 

Soon, the fuzzy, drowsy feeling turned into an intense tingling, almost electric, feeling that started in his head and went down his shoulders. It became hard to think or keep his eyes open, and he quickly found himself dozing off. 

Once he realized he was conscious and aware of his surroundings again, he tried to look around. He couldn't move, and could still only see the pitch-black darkness from before. This time, it felt different somehow.  _ He  _ felt different. He felt ...wind? 

There was a cold breeze picking up, and it seemed to only grow stronger once he noticed it. The breeze brought the familiar smell of a damp autumn night with it. And soon enough, out of the darkness, stars started to appear. Buildings and lumpy red and yellow trees started to materialize out of the darkness and form themselves into a recognizable and familiar landscape. Milo had been here before. 

His vision drifted, almost unconsciously, from the woods to the old, damp parking lot for an equally old and damp grocery store that had been empty for what he had been told was years. There was a fence put up around the abandoned building, presumably to keep people out, but it was obvious by the state of the fence that it wasn't keeping many out. Inside the parking lot itself were a few old, barely working streetlights, some garbage, and a rusty, broken-down car that had long since been scavenged for any remotely useful parts. 

There were also two boys. The younger of which was perched on the hood of the old car, and the older of which was standing within arm's reach, with a rock in his hand. Milo couldn't hear what they were saying from where he was- wherever that was- but he could get a sense for it. He knew they were both tired- not just physically, but emotionally. They were weary and upset, and they both, on some level, felt helpless. The younger of the two was worried about his older brother, and the older brother was  _ angry _ . The best he could do about it right now was throw stones, and by now, the fire of the anger he came here with had grown cold. Instead, he turns the stone in his hand in silent consideration. The older brother sighs and turns to the younger one. For a moment, the frustration and anger fades and is replaced by a warm fondness, and then a pang of guilt. He says something that comes out garbled through the water, and drops the stone. No, he remembers what it was.  _ Come on. Let's go, Miles.  _

No. No, no, hold on- this was  _ him.  _ Milo had been here before. This was him, and his brother, a long,  _ long _ time ago. But why was it like this? Why couldn't he hear them? Why could he feel what they felt? Why couldn't he see through his own eyes? Why could he feel what  _ Gabriel  _ felt?  _ Where was the man?  _

Milo could feel his heartbeat picking up in his chest, and he tried to call out to the kids- no, himself and his brother- to warn them, but he couldn't. He couldn't move, He couldn't say anything to them. He couldn't even tell if he was breathing, and if he was, he didn't have any control of it. 

All the while, he felt an increasingly powerful sense of dread and malice growing nearer. There was a restrained feeling of anger, a sense of duty and purpose, and  _ disgust.  _ The emotions grew more and more potent as they came closer, and it felt more and more like there was someone waiting behind him with their hands hovering around his neck, waiting to strike- and there was nothing he could do. 

In what should have been shouting, the previously restrained anger becomes a powerful lash of rage that feels like it splits him in two. The man had come out of hiding and was shouting down the boys. Milo couldn't hear him over their fear. 

The situation escalates faster than Milo can keep up with- soon enough, the man is even angrier. His shouts of rage and hatred hurt Milo's ears. Gabriel starts to run, and the younger brother tries to hide. In one quick moment, Milo is him again. Against his own will, he pushes the door of the trunk of the car open again. The sound of the old metal screeching against himself is louder than he remembers and seeps into his spine. He clambers inside, now certain the walls are closing in on him. It was strange being so small again. The smell of the rust in the car is so strong he can hardly breathe. 

He can't see anything more than the sliver of light where the trunk of the car doesn't close all of the way, but he thinks seeing what was happening would be preferable to what he does experience. 

The force of the man's rage, and of his brother's terror, is overwhelming and makes him dizzy. He tries to reach out to get a hold of something, but he can't. There's not enough room. He desperately needs to get away- he's trying to breathe, but he's choking on fear that's not his and rust. Soon, the terror is disjointed, and it feels like it comes in from all sides, before fizzling out entirely. He wants to scream, but he can't. He knows what this means. He can't do it again. 

There is a long, agonizing moment of stillness. Milo can't do anything but wait. He's not sure he's breathing. A terrible feeling starts to seep in through the gap between the car itself and the trunk door. It was like rage, but absolutely sickening. It made his hands curl into fists and his head ache. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and it wanted to throw him into motion. It was the pure, blinding feeling of violence and malice, and it wrapped its tendrils around him. It pulled him out of the car and made his vision go white. 

When the brightness faded, Milo could see the man that killed his brother. He was covered in blood and anger. He was saying something to him,  _ shouting  _ at him, but Milo couldn't parse it. All he could hear was anger, vitriol, judgement, and his own fear- it was all so loud. It all gathered in his throat and choked him. His ears hurt and he couldn't think clearly. 

He knew how this was supposed to end. He would understand. He would have a realization, and he'd be able to reason with the murderer, and he'd be free. That's how this worked. That's what happened then. 

This time, though, he couldn't think straight. He stared down the murderer, waiting for a moment of clarity he knew was supposed to happen, but there was nothing he could say. Everything was too loud- even if he did know what to say, he didn't think he could bring himself to say anything. He was still choking. 

It was too much-  _ far _ too much. He could hardly keep up with what was happening before him. He felt a grip on the back of his head tighten. This wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. 

Before Milo could react, the man brings down the knife he had just used to kill his brother and drives it deep into Milo's skull. A terrible, piercing pain follows, and he can barely hear his own scream behind it. It felt like something broke. 

Everything fades to black again around him, and he can hear his breathing and the splashing of the water echo strangely around him as he sits upright and brings his hands to his face. His  _ actual _ hands. He was back.  _ What had just happened?  _

Milo sits in the water for a while- not long enough- and despite his best efforts, he can't manage to slow his breathing. He needed to get out of here. 

As if on cue, there is a clicking noise of a door opening, and light streams into the tank. Without hesitation, Milo hurriedly stumbles toward the exit, pushing himself out of the door that hadn't even been opened all the way. 

He enters a dimly lit room that moves around too much for him to identify any notable features of. He does, however, recognize Dr. Cohen at the other end of the room. She has something in her hands, and looks rather worried. 

"What the  _ hell?"  _ Milo says without thinking. His voice is louder than he expected and hoarse. He takes a shaky step forward, and Dr. Cohen takes a hesitant step back. 

Dr. Cohen looks like she's going to say something for a moment, but doesn't. 

“You  _ knew  _ this would happen! You  _ knew-”  _ Milo continues, taking another shaky step forward. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Dr. Cohen continues stepping back away from him, looking more and more worried. People that Milo hadn’t even been aware were there grab his arms, and pull him aside. Only a brief moment later, his vision went black, and he felt himself start to fall but never hit the floor. 


End file.
